


Midnight at Grantaire's

by thechandrian



Series: lovers' talk is clouds [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Diary/Journal, Flirting, Fluff, Hair, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechandrian/pseuds/thechandrian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joly decides that the rest of the amis need diaries, and Enjolras comes to Grantaire at midnight with a hair emergency.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight at Grantaire's

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No harm intended, no profit made. I do not own Les Mis. Please excuse historical inaccuracies.

It had been a few weeks since Grantaire admitted to reading Enjolras’s diary, and their relationship had progressed about as much as Grantaire could hope. He still questioned each of Enjolras’s points at the meetings, and Enjolras still pointed out that Grantaire was a cynic who needed to have more faith in humanity. And yet, there was something different as well. A fondness and friendship that hadn’t existed previously. The rest of the _amis_ were not blind to this development.

“So, Grantaire,” Courfeyrac said one day, as they were sitting around the Café Musain having drinks. “What’s going on with you and Enjolras?”

“What do you mean, going on?” Grantaire said, taking a swig of wine and hoping that Courfeyrac would be willing to drop the subject. It had never been any secret to the _amis_ that Grantaire had a huge crush on Enjolras, and he really didn’t want to destroy their delicate friendship by putting Enjolras in the uncomfortable position of having to explain to Grantaire all the reasons why he didn’t want to be in a relationship with him.

“I heard you ate oysters together the other day,” Courfeyrac said.

“Ate oysters?” Combeferre asked, “or, you know, _ate oysters_?” He stressed the words, winking.

“What does that even mean?” Grantaire asked, rolling his eyes. “He’s grateful that I took care of him when he was sick. He’s glad I came clean about the diary. That’s all.”

“It’s definitely not all,” Marius chimed in, “I see the way he looks at you. It’s different. Like the way I look at Cosette.”

Grantaire had seen the way Marius looked at Cosette. It resembled the dazed look a cow has on its face when eating grass. Grantaire could never imagine such an expression on Enjolras’s face.

“Just leave it alone, okay?” Grantaire said, hoping that his friends would take him seriously.

“You know, I was thinking about Enjolras and his diary the other day,” Joly began, “I was thinking that I might start writing one.”

The other _amis_ looked at Joly like he was crazy.

“Why?” Courfeyrac asked, “so you can accidentally leave it around somewhere and someone can find it and know all your deepest, darkest secrets?”

“Well, I’d be careful with it,” Joly explained, “and I would trust you all to respect my privacy.”

“Why?” Grantaire asked, honestly. “We don’t exactly have a good track record with respecting people’s privacy.”

“I trust you guys,” Joly repeated. “And I think it would be a good idea for therapy. We write in our diaries, and then share our thoughts.”

“These are revolutionary meetings, not therapy sessions,” Combeferre commented.

“Enjolras will say the same thing,” Grantaire said, finishing his glass of wine, “He’ll ask – _what do our feelings matter to the oppressed people of France_? He’ll say – _our little lives don’t count at all! Grantaire, put that diary down!_ ”

“You don’t give Enj enough credit,” Courfeyrac said, “he’s the one who had the diary to begin with.”

Grantaire contemplated all the reasons he disliked Courfeyrac referring to Enjolras as _Enj_ before he realized that it was probably too soon to act like a jealous lover.

“I think I know how Enjolras would react,” Grantaire said defiantly, still sounding like a jealous lover.

“So, we all agree?” Joly said, smiling. Even though no one agreed, none of the _amis_ had it in their hearts to argue further with Joly, who looked pleased with his suggestion.

They drank another bottle of wine together before heading off to their respective apartments. Grantaire walked down the street, thinking of Enjolras. He wasn’t joking when he said that Enjolras would probably think the diary idea was stupid. After all, there was a reason that Enjolras kept it hidden, and probably not solely because he wanted all the _amis_ to think his hair was naturally shiny. Grantaire smiled when he thought of how embarrassed Enjolras had been.

He opened the door to his apartment and walked in, throwing himself onto the couch. If he was being honest, he actually did enjoy writing. Painting, poetry, and singing were among the hobbies that he’d lost touch with after becoming immersed in drinking and depression. Lately, however, he was starting to feel lighter and lighter. He knew it wasn’t a coincidence that this sudden energy was timed so perfectly with he and Enjolras’s budding friendship.

After all, Enjolras represented everything that was missing in his life. Passion, inspiration, devotion to a higher cause. Grantaire took out a notebook, a pen, and a bottle of wine and wondered if he was adding anything positive to Enjolras’s life. He wondered if it was even possible for someone like him to bring happiness into another’s life.

He looked down at the blank paper before him and began to write,

“ _About a week ago, Enjolras and I went to get oysters. It was a cold day, and Enjolras was just getting over a sickness, so I stayed close to him and made sure he was warm. I wanted to hold his hand, but thought that might be too presumptuous. I don’t know if he remembers, but when he was sick, he reached out for my hand and told me that he was afraid of leading our friends to their deaths._

 _I often think about my friends dying. After all, it is inevitable. Everyone dies, and life isn’t worth anything in the end. And yet, I believe that Enjolras’s life is worth something. He makes me want to believe that there is good in the world. He is so strong, so self-assured. He even believes in me, which I know from experience, is practically impossible. I hope one day I can prove to him that I am worth something._ ”

Grantaire stopped writing for a moment, and took a long drink of wine. He felt better writing down his thoughts. Perhaps Joly did have some decent medical advice every once in a while, even if it was psychological instead of physical.

He also thought about how horrified he’d be if anyone, particularly Enjolras, read this passage. He was trying to play the role of cool, nonchalant friend who cares deeply. And those kinds of friends don’t write pages and pages about the way their other friend saved their life.

He picked up his pen and continued to write,

“ _Enjolras looked absolutely adorable eating oysters. His hair was still greasy from a night of sickness, but his blue eyes were shining and no longer clouded with fever. I don’t think I could ever get tired of seeing the way the wind lit up his cheeks and nose a bright pink, and the way he laughed when he accidentally flung one of his oysters at my face while trying to get it out of the shell._ ”

Grantaire stopped writing again to smile at the memory. They hadn’t had many more times alone since then, but they spent more and more time speaking privately at meetings. Grantaire could tell that Enjolras was beginning to view him as more than an annoying drunk who interrupted the meetings simply because he disliked Enjolras. More than anything, Grantaire was glad that discrepancy was cleared up. Grantaire loved Enjolras more than life itself, and he was glad to have Enjolras’s respect, and his reluctant fondness.

It was dark outside, nearly midnight, and Grantaire decided that he’d written enough for the night. After all, the chances of him sharing any of what he’d just written with the other _amis_ were slim to none. He would have to write a second diary detailing all the different kinds of wine he’d drank and all the games of dominoes he’d won. Sometimes it was useful to have such a dubious reputation.

Suddenly there was a panicked knocking on his door. He’d already changed into his nightshirt and figured whoever was knocking could deal with it. Who would be calling on him at this hour, anyway?

He assumed it had to be one of the _amis_.

Of course, it was Enjolras. Grantaire felt very conscious of the fact he was nearly undressed, and fought the blush that threatened to crawl up his neck. Enjolras looked distressed. His eyebrows were drawn together in worry and he was carrying a bag that seemed to be seconds away from bursting open. His eyes widened when he saw Grantaire.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you’d be…” he trailed off, looking everywhere but at Grantaire.

“It’s fine, come in,” Grantaire said, opening the door wider. Enjolras walked in, carrying the bag with both of his hands. He was wearing his usual red coat and looked distinctly uncomfortable being in Grantaire’s apartment.

“What can I help you with, Apollo?” Grantaire asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I know it’s late but…my landlord informed me today that there is a problem with the water in my building,” he said it quickly, like Grantaire was seconds away from asking him to leave.

“A problem?” Grantaire asked.

“He didn’t really elaborate…just said it wasn’t safe to use,” Enjolras paused before continuing, “I imagine it has something to do with the horrid condition our sewers are in, due to the fact that the government is more concerned with using the people’s money to pad their pockets rather than take care of any practical problems in the city.”

“I’m sure that’s it,” Grantaire agreed.

“So, I was wondering…” Enjolras trailed off again, staring, apparently hopeful that Grantaire would somehow be able to read his mind and finish his thoughts.

“You were hoping to steal some water?” Grantaire guessed.

“I was hoping to bathe,” Enjolras said and looked embarrassed before continuing, “it’s important that I wash my hair every other day in order to keep up its appearance. As you know, appearance is important. I must look healthy and put together if the other _amis_ are going to take me seriously.”

“Your hair _is_ excellent for moral, Apollo,” Grantaire commented, seconds away from bursting into laughter.

“You think this is a joke,” Enjolras said, and he looked so embarrassed by the whole thing that Grantaire somehow managed to pull himself together.

“Not at all,” Grantaire said, and he pointed to the bag. “What’s that, then? Seventeen bottles of France’s best olive oil?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I have a special shampoo for curls. A special conditioner for blonde hair. And yes, there’s also olive oil. And some gel. And texturizing powder.”

“Of course there is,” Grantaire said, and this time he couldn’t hold in a small chuckle. “I’ll fill up the bath for you, Apollo.”

“Thank you, Grantaire. I really appreciate it.”

Grantaire wondered if it would be appropriate to suggest to Enjolras that because of the newfound water epidemic they really should be saving water by bathing together. He quickly scrapped the idea, figuring that could be filed under “too pushy.”

As the water filled up, Grantaire considered how precious it was that Enjolras had chosen him over all the other _amis_ to ask about the bath. He didn’t exactly know where every _amis_ ’ apartments were, but he knew that Enjolras’s was at least a twenty minute walk from his own. Perhaps he was chosen because he already knew about Enjolras’s super secret hair routine and therefore, Enjolras could avoid awkwardly explaining that the success of France’s revolution depended on whether or not he shampooed his hair every other day.

When the bath was filled, Grantaire went back into the main room. Enjolras was sitting on the couch, staring at the notebook that was resting on the table. So much for keeping his diary hidden.

“I hope you didn’t read that,” Grantaire said, conversationally. He didn’t want to make it seem like a big deal. After all, he’d read Enjolras’s diary. He couldn’t exactly ask Enjolras not to do the same.

“I didn’t,” Enjolras said. “What is it?”

“Poetry,” Grantaire lied.

“I didn’t know you wrote poetry,” Enjolras said, and he turned around to look at Grantaire. His big bag of beauty products was next to him, and he was fiddling with the ends of his jacket, looking nervous. He was so cute; Grantaire could write poetry about him for the rest of his life.

“I write it occasionally,” Grantaire said, trying once again to sound nonchalant. “I’m also quite good at gymnastics, if that’s something you’d be interested in.”

“Pardon?” Enjolras asked, raising his eyebrow.

“I’m very flexible,” Grantaire continued, before realizing that now might be an excellent time to shut up. “Anyway,” he stuttered, “the bath is ready.”

“Excellent,” Enjolras said, picking up his bag. “I don’t know if you have rose petals, but I brought my own.”

Grantaire remembered seeing the jar of rose petals in Enjolras’s apartment and couldn’t stop the blush that crept up his cheeks thinking about Enjolras bathing in flowers. The image was totally perfect.

Enjolras gathered his belongings and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He tried not to listen to the sounds of what were certainly Enjolras getting undressed, and getting into the bath. In a desperate attempt to pull himself together, he sat down on the couch and downed the rest of the wine he’d been drinking earlier. He quickly began writing in his diary,

“ _Oh my god oh my god oh my god. Enjolras is in my bathroom taking a rose petal bath. He is probably running special shampoo through his hair right now. He’s probably naked. No, he’s certainly naked. If I don’t last the night, this is why._ ”

Grantaire’s frantic writing was interrupted when he heard a series of loud crashes followed by a string of curses. He’d never heard that level of exasperation from Enjolras except when it was directed at him. He walked slowly over to the bathroom and knocked on the door.

“Everything okay in there, Enj?” Grantaire asked. Yeah, take that, Courfeyrac.

There was a long pause before Enjolras responded, sounding incredibly annoyed,

“Yes, everything’s fine. I just dropped my olive oil on the floor because your shelf isn’t large enough to hold all of my products.”

Grantaire ignored the fact that Enjolras sounded vaguely like he was attempting to make some kind of innuendo and asked,

“Did it break?” Very classy, R.

“Yes,” Enjolras admitted. “I’ll clean it up.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Grantaire said, and he went into the kitchen to gather a couple towels. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Enjolras muttered, and Grantaire opened the door.

Enjolras looked positively stunning standing there, in a puddle of olive oil and broken glass, bottles of hair products scattered around his feet. He had Grantaire’s towel wrapped around his waist and his whole body was glittering wet from the bath. His hair was thrown dramatically to one side, and he had a single rose petal stuck on the side of his face. Grantaire had trouble catching his breath.

“That’s a good look on you, Apollo,” Grantaire commented, laying some towels around Enjolras’s feet.

“You don’t have any shelves for hair products,” Enjolras sulked, running his hand through his hair and peeling the stray rose petal from his face, holding it between his fingers.

“That’s because I don’t use any,” Grantaire explained, trying to gather the glass without cutting himself. “Unlike your hair, mine cannot give the oppressed people freedom.”

“Will you ever get tired of making fun of my hair?” Enjolras asked, but he didn’t really sound upset.

“Probably not,” Grantaire said, and he stood up. “C’mon, let’s get you into the hall so I can finish cleaning up this mess. And don’t cut your feet on the glass.”

Enjolras tried to step delicately over the mountain of towels that Grantaire had laid out, but accidentally slipped on some olive oil causing him to land fully in Grantaire’s arms, sending them both plummeting to the floor. Grantaire hit his head hard against the wall.

He groaned loudly as stars formed before his eyes, his thoughts fuzzy. Finally, he was able to focus, realizing that he had a half-naked Enjolras on top of him, their lips practically touching.

Enjolras was staring into his eyes as though he were totally clueless how they had gotten into this position and Grantaire took a deep breath before tentatively bringing his hand up to touch Enjolras’s arm. It was still warm from the bath. They stayed in this position for a few moments before reality came crashing down and they realized what they were doing.

“Oh, sorry—” Enjolras stuttered, trying to push himself off of Grantaire, and struggling to keep his towel in place. His face was bright red.

“Don’t worry about it,” Grantaire said under his breath. He was having trouble focusing on anything other than Enjolras and his slowly unraveling towel.

Grantaire quickly averted his eyes to avoid looking like a pervert, and struggled for something to say to defuse the situation. Suddenly he noticed that there were droplets of blood falling from Enjolras’s hand.

Grantaire practically flew at him and grabbed his hand, inspecting it.

“You cut yourself, Apollo,” Grantaire commented. Enjolras didn’t look too concerned, and the cut was shallow, but still, Grantaire hated to see Enjolras in any state of injury.

“Let me grab you a bandage,” he said, and hurried into the kitchen to gather some gauze and tape. When he returned, Enjolras was just standing there, staring down at his hand, looking up as Grantaire approached.

“Sorry,” he apologized, and Grantaire just shook his head, taking Enjolras’s hand. He laid the gauze down on the small cut and wrapped the tape around it holding it into place.

“All better, Apollo,” Grantaire said, smiling. “You should be more careful with that olive oil of yours.” He was still holding Enjolras’s hand.

“I’ve had worse,” he sighed.

“Of course you have,” Grantaire said. He knew that Enjolras frequently sustained injuries on his supposedly peaceful protests and that he seemed to have zero concern for his own health unless it directly benefited the betterment of France. Grantaire wanted to tell Enjolras how much he hated seeing him hurt, but knew it wouldn’t matter. Enjolras would always be willing to sacrifice himself.

“Well, thank you,” Enjolras said, looking at his bandaged hand. Grantaire slowly let go, savoring the touch of Enjolras’s fingertips against his own.

Enjolras turned and went back into the bathroom to gather his clothes, this time watching out for the few shards of broken glass that managed to escape the giant pile of towels that Grantaire had laid out. Grantaire used this as an excuse to sneak away into the kitchen and open a much needed bottle of wine.

When Enjolras entered the kitchen he was still half-naked and was carrying a bundle of clothes in his arms.

“You can change in the bedroom,” Grantaire said, putting the bottle up to his lips and taking a drink.

Enjolras left without a word, and closed the door behind him. Grantaire let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Honestly, this was the last time he let Enjolras take a bath over his apartment. If Enjolras didn’t realize yet that he was incredibly turned on by this whole preceding, he would soon. Grantaire put the bottle down on the counter, and walked over to the couch, falling onto it.

When Enjolras was finished, he walked out wearing his usual black pants and billowy white shirt, still managing to look oddly naked without his token red coat. He was holding the towel in his hands and using it to pat dry his hair, which was falling in wet, loose curls around his face. Grantaire moved over slightly, motioning in what he hoped was a casual way for Enjolras to join him on the couch.  

“Can I hear some of your poetry?” Enjolras asked suddenly.

Grantaire looked down at the diary, wishing he’d tossed it into the trash when he had the chance.

“Of course you can, Apollo,” Grantaire said, trying to sound confident. “If you promise not to judge too harshly.”

“I’m hardly a literary critic, Grantaire,” he said, laying the towel down on his lap. His hair was almost dry and was becoming quite puffy, like a golden cloud hovering around his face. It looked very soft.

“Apollo, I think you know by now that you are, in fact, my harshest critic,” Grantaire replied, and pulled the diary to him. “Let’s see…this latest one is called, ‘French Revolution’.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I can hardly wait to hear your deep intellectual thoughts on the revolution.”

“You wound me, Apollo,” Grantaire said, staring at a blank page in the diary. “I have nothing but reflective thoughts on the revolution.”

“Go on, then,” Enjolras said, smiling.

“Ahem,” Grantaire cleared his throat, and pretended to read,

“ _The red flag of the republic flew high,_  
 _As Enjolras lead the les amis,_  
 _The National Guard said ‘You’re all going to die’,_  
 _But Enjolras said, ‘The people will be free.’_  
 _And when the barricade fell and all seemed lost,_  
 _Courfeyrac saw Enjolras’s shiny hair and shouted,_  
 _‘Apollo washed his hair with olive oil, we’re saved!’_  
 _And we won the revolution._ ”

Grantaire admitted to himself that rhyming wasn’t really his forte – or meter, apparently – and looked up from the notebook. Enjolras was staring at him, looking absolutely flabbergasted. Grantaire wondered if he was about to go into a long-winded speech about how the poem mocked their ideals, and how Grantaire really should learn to take things more seriously, when Enjolras burst into laughter.

“Grantaire, that poem was ridiculous,” he said, catching his breath.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to have to perform it,” Grantaire said, a tad bit defensive, even though he’d just made the poem up on the spot.

“I couldn’t imagine Courfeyrac calling me Apollo,” Enjolras said, once he’d calmed down. His face was still flushed from laughing, and his blue eyes were shining. He looked so young and innocent that Grantaire wanted to wrap him up in that towel and never let him go.

“Yeah,” Grantaire agreed, “I guess that’s sort of my name for you.”

“It is,” Enjolras said. He was looking into Grantaire’s eyes, fiddling with the towel in his lap. “I used to dislike it. It is a great deal of pressure living up to a Greek god. I cannot possibly be so flawless.”

“You are flawless,” Grantaire said, and then added, with a wink, “Apollo.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and laughed softly, before bringing his hand up to his hair. He looked surprised when he touched it and realized it wasn’t perfectly curled.

“I need to take care of this, excuse me,” Enjolras said, “as a wise bard once said: the revolution depends on the state of my hair.”

Enjolras stood up from the couch and disappeared into the bathroom, presumably to gather one of his various hair supplies. Grantaire took the moment alone to collect his thoughts. He considered writing the poem down, since Enjolras seemed to be such a fan, but then decided against it. He was probably only humoring R since it was easily two in the morning at this point, and he’d sustained a small amount of blood loss.

Enjolras came back into the main room carrying a small bottle.

“What’s that?” Grantaire asked, curious. He hadn’t even known that there was such a myriad of hair products in existence. Probably because Enjolras single-handedly managed to buy out France’s entire supply.

“A sort of gel,” Enjolras explained, taking a seat next to Grantaire. He seemed to be sitting a few inches closer than before he’d gotten up, although that could have been Grantaire’s imagination.

Enjolras opened the bottle and then paused.

“This will be difficult to do,” Enjolras said slowly, indicating his bandaged hand.

“I can help,” Grantaire suggested, thinking about Enjolras’s soft hair.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him, clutching his gel. “It’s a delicate process.”

“I promise to treat the curls with the utmost care.” Grantaire struggled to keep his tone serious, since he knew how easily embarrassed Enjolras was over his hair.

Enjolras hesitantly handed him the hair gel, and turned around so that his back was facing Grantaire.

“Just put a little in your hands, and rub it around so it’s covering your palms,” Enjolras was explaining in a quiet voice and Grantaire was struggling to concentrate on anything other than the insane amount of unresolved sexual tension he was currently experiencing.

Enjolras continued, “Then, put it in my hair. But start from the ends and then work your way to the roots.”

Grantaire was grinning absurdly at this point, overjoyed that he was, in fact, about to play with Enjolras’s hair. It was so cute and flirty and unlike anything he’d ever imagined he’d be doing. Grantaire took a deep breath and dug his fingertips into the gel, pulling out a small glob.

Enjolras was sitting up straight and seemed nervous, probably assuming that Grantaire was about to epically mess up his hair. Grantaire put the hand that wasn’t covered in gel on Enjolras’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him down.

Enjolras stilled under Grantaire’s hand and looked about to ask what on earth he was doing before Grantaire slowly spread the gel out on both his palms.

He lightly grasped the ends of Enjolras’s hair, working in the gel. He was right; Enjolras’s hair was incredibly soft. It was like angel feathers. Like a cloud made of sunshine. Grantaire was suddenly inspired to write more poetry.

“Try to bunch it up a little,” Enjolras suggested.

Grantaire really had no idea what that meant, and so he held out his palms and patted Enjolras’s hair in an upwards motion.

He was surprised when Enjolras once again burst into laughter. He brought his bandaged hand up to cover his face, even though Grantaire couldn’t really see him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh,” Enjolras explained, still laughing, “you’re just not very good at this.”

“Excuse you!” Grantaire said, in mock offense. “Your hair looks better than ever.”

“Just keep going,” Enjolras said, finally managing to pull himself together.

Grantaire continued to brush his fingers through Enjolras’s hair, taking care to make sure each curl was covered in the gel. He soon found himself gently massaging Enjolras’s scalp, enjoying the way that he was relaxing underneath Grantaire’s touch. Grantaire wondered if he was the only one who found this whole process mildly erotic.

At this point, Enjolras was practically lying in his lap and Grantaire struggled for an excuse to keep him there. When Enjolras’s hair was finished, he reluctantly removed his hands.

Enjolras didn’t move right away, and only after a few moments, inched away from Grantaire and turned around to look at him.

“Thank you, that was…” he looked down, “that was good.”

“Good?” Grantaire said, smiling.

“Very…relaxing,” he said in a soft voice, clearly blushing. He ran his fingers through his hair and twirled a golden curl around one finger, before letting it fall gently to the side of this face. There was absolutely no way that Grantaire wasn’t being seduced right now.

Enjolras just gave him a shy smile before bringing his hand up to his mouth and yawning. He must have been incredibly exhausted because the yawn lasted for a good minute and caused his whole face to scrunch up and small tears to form in his eyes. He looked flustered when it was finished.

“Am I putting you to sleep, Apollo?” Grantaire teased, although he felt incredibly tired himself. He hadn’t been up this late in a while, unless he was drunk out of his mind. “I could read you more poetry, if you’d like.” _Poetry that would likely be about how unbelievably adorable you are_.

“I think I should just head home,” Enjolras said, “it’s late and well, I seem to be quite tired.” He made to get up but Grantaire put a hand on his knee to stop him. Then he realized he was touching Enjolras’s leg and quickly removed his hand before things became awkward.

“Wait,” he said, “stay. It’s dangerous to be walking around at this time.”

“It’s only dangerous because the impoverished people in our city are forced to steal in order to survive,” Enjolras said, in a tired voice, not really putting up much fight.

“Regardless,” Grantaire began, “I’d prefer if it wasn’t you they were stealing from. I worry enough about you as it is.”

“You worry about me?” Enjolras asked, and he looked honestly surprised.

“Enjolras, you antagonize the French government and the National Guard as a way of life,” he explained, as though stating the obvious, “of course I worry about you.”

Enjolras looked perplexed at the idea, but simply shook his head, and said, “I will sleep on your couch then, if that’s okay.”

“The bed is more comfortable,” Grantaire blurted out, without thinking. He mentally face-palmed and looked guiltily up at Enjolras, scrambling for a casual way to explain why he’d just suggested that they sleep together.

“Is that right?” Enjolras said, with an amused smile, seemingly enjoying Grantaire’s evident embarrassment.

“I mean…I could sleep on the couch, and you could take the bed,” Grantaire hurried to explain.

“Grantaire, unless you’re afraid of me violating you in your sleep, I don’t see why we both just can’t sleep in the bed,” Enjolras suggested like it was the most obvious solution in the world.

“You don’t see why we both can’t...why we….what?” Grantaire said, stupidly. He couldn’t possibly have heard Enjolras correctly. Did he really just imply that Grantaire might be afraid of Enjolras violating him? Was this even real life? Some lack-of-sleep-induced hallucination?

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I’ll sleep on the couch, then.”

“No!” Grantaire said, way too loudly, causing Enjolras to jump a little. He tried to calm his racing heart. “I mean, that’s fine, sure, let’s sleep in the bed together, whatever.”

“I don’t have any pajamas,” Enjolras said, suddenly.

Grantaire was moments away from shouting _sleep naked!_ before catching himself, figuring he’d made a big enough fool of himself for one night.

“You can borrow one of my shirts,” Grantaire said, hurrying into the bedroom and rummaging around in his drawers. All of his nightshirts were old and worn. Grantaire wasn’t exactly the richest person in the world and he didn’t see the point in splurging on clothing that no one ever saw. He wished he had something sexy to give to Enjolras. Instead, he simply took out the newest of the shirts. It was olive green, his favorite color.

“Sorry I don’t have anything in red,” Grantaire said, handing the shirt to Enjolras.

With absolutely zero hesitation, Enjolras whipped off his billowy white shirt and threw on Grantaire’s old pajamas, slipping out of his pants in one graceful motion. Grantaire just stood there with his mouth agape. How on earth did Enjolras make changing clothes look like some kind of ballet?

Enjolras noticed Grantaire staring and once again began to blush.

“What?” he asked, running his hands over the shirt, “do I look like you?”

“You’re far prettier than me, Apollo,” Grantaire replied, finally finding his voice.

Enjolras just laughed and shook his head. “I think that’s the first time I’ve been called pretty.”

“Well, good,” Grantaire said, with a shy smile, feeling self-conscious in front of Enjolras, who did, in fact, look super pretty wearing Grantaire’s shirt. “I’m glad I was your first time.”

Grantaire figured that if he could play a drinking game based on his life, he would take a shot every time he made an unintentional sexual innuendo in front of Enjolras.

“We should probably get to sleep,” Enjolras said, tactfully ignoring Grantaire’s comment. “We have a meeting tomorrow morning and we shouldn’t both be half asleep.”

“Excellent point, Apollo,” Grantaire said, pulling the blankets back, “Imagine a meeting where I was too tired to disagree with every point you made.”

Grantaire’s bed was pressed up against the wall and he got in, moving over so that Enjolras could join him. He felt overwhelmed with nerves at the idea of sleeping with Enjolras. Even if they would just be sleeping. And possibly cuddling. Grantaire took a deep breath and tried to be calm as Enjolras got in next to him. Grantaire’s bed wasn’t exactly huge and their arms touched as Enjolras grabbed the blanket and pulled it up over them.

“It’s difficult to remember what meetings were like before you joined us,” Enjolras commented, as Grantaire reached over to turn the light off. “I imagine there was far less arguing.”

“But you love arguing, don’t you, Apollo?” Grantaire teased. He could barely make out Enjolras in the darkness, but felt his presence next to him. He was warm and his soft hair was laid out on the pillow. He smelled slightly of rose petals. Grantaire laid down beside him, wishing his heart wasn’t beating so loudly.

“I could argue the point of the revolution with you all day,” Enjolras said, and he rolled himself over to face Grantaire. Grantaire’s eyes were beginning to adjust in the blackness and he could see Enjolras, laying there, in his bed, surrounded by a pool of golden curls, his blue eyes shining in the dark. “And you would still disagree with me. You don’t care about France’s future.”

They frequently had this argument and always arrived at the same inevitable conclusion. There was absolutely nothing that could convince Grantaire that this country was worth Enjolras’s life.

“I care about you, Apollo,” Grantaire replied. “Shouldn’t that be enough?”

“It’s comforting,” Enjolras practically whispered and, no, it wasn’t Grantaire’s imagination, he definitely just inched closer. “Goodnight, Grantaire.”

Grantaire could barely think about sleeping, too preoccupied with the love of his life not even a few inches away.

“Goodnight, Apollo,” he whispered, trying to keep his voice steady.

Enjolras seemed to have no such problems, and in only a few moments his breathing evened out and he fell into a deep sleep. Grantaire looked over at Enjolras and knew at once that there wasn’t a more precious sight in the entire universe. His lips were parted slightly, and his features, which were usually contorted into an expression of annoyance, were evened out and peaceful. He had one hand pulled up against his face, resting on the pillow. Grantaire wanted nothing more than to grab it and hold on.

Finally, he allowed himself to close his eyes, hoping that his dreams would bring him further images of a sleeping Enjolras. If anything, he hoped his dreams stayed relatively innocent, since having a sex dream with Enjolras in the bed would really be the awkward icing on the awkward cake that was this night.

Grantaire fell asleep with the comforting presence of Enjolras’s heart beating beside him.

The next morning, Grantaire was the first to wake up and it took him a moment to realize that the other body in his bed was, in fact, Enjolras. Not only was Enjolras sleeping in his bed, but he had somehow managed to curl himself completely around Grantaire’s body. Their legs were intertwined and Enjolras had one of his arms resting gently on Grantaire’s chest. His nose was pressed into Grantaire’s neck, and Grantaire’s own face was covered in golden curls.

He was afraid to move. He was afraid that if he so much as breathed, he would disturb their delicate position. It was like every one of his dreams had come true.

Enjolras was breathing softly into his neck, and would occasionally sigh a little, bringing himself closer to Grantaire. Grantaire was certainly going to lose his mind.

Grantaire was only awake for about ten minutes, relishing the feeling of Enjolras pressed up against him, when Enjolras started to wake up. Grantaire noticed immediately that he had his arm wrapped around Enjolras’s body and couldn’t think of a decent way to remove it without jostling him.

Enjolras blinked a few times, looking confused as to where he was and who exactly he was sleeping with. He looked up with clouded blue eyes to Grantaire, and the surprised expression on his face was priceless.

“Good morning, Apollo,” Grantaire said. He tried to sound casual, like if he spoke in an even tone and acted like everything was normal, both he and Enjolras would be able to ignore the fact that they were currently tied together like a pretzel.

“Good morning, ‘Taire,” Enjolras muttered, his voice still groggy with sleep.

Grantaire attempted, and failed, to ignore the butterflies that formed in his stomach upon hearing Enjolras refer to him by a nickname. He was so happy he thought he could burst.

“What time is it?” Enjolras asked. He seemed more awake now and yet, did not pull away from Grantaire. In fact, he seemed content to lay in his arms forever.

“Early,” Grantaire replied, speaking into Enjolras’s hair as his head rested on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, we haven’t missed the meeting.”

“Good,” Enjolras said, in a soft voice, burying his face into Grantaire’s neck. “It’s an important meeting. We’re discussing our next protest.”

Grantaire didn’t respond, instead tentatively bringing his hand up to run his fingers through Enjolras’s hair. He paused for a moment, waiting for Enjolras to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing. However, no such comment ever came.

They stayed in this position for several moments, Grantaire softly running his fingers through Enjolras’s curls, and Enjolras nuzzling Grantaire’s neck with his nose. Suddenly, Enjolras pulled away, practically throwing himself out of the bed and looking guiltily at Grantaire.

“Grantaire, I—” he started.

“It’s fine, I’m sorry,” Grantaire interrupted, trying to hide the hurt he felt. He didn’t know what exactly he was apologizing for, but he assumed he had done something to make Enjolras uncomfortable.

“We should just, get ready then. Go to the café,” Enjolras spoke quickly and refused to meet Grantaire’s eyes, before running into the bathroom.

Grantaire heard the door of the bathroom slam shut, overcome with the silence that followed. He didn’t know what exactly he’d done to cause Enjolras to react in such a way, or if he’d done anything at all. Maybe Enjolras had finally realized who exactly he was sleeping with, and wanted to put a stop to it before Grantaire got the wrong impression. Grantaire knew he should be satisfied with whatever Enjolras was willing to give him. Enjolras was a thousand times the person that Grantaire was, and he should be happy that he was even able to spend the night with him. Still, he couldn’t help the inevitable feelings of hurt and rejection. He knew that they were starting to become friends, and Grantaire only hoped that he hadn’t messed that up by wishing for too much.

When Enjolras came back into the room, he was fully dressed in his clothes from yesterday, including the red coat. Grantaire felt silly still lying in bed, and quickly scrambled to find clothes for the day. Each moment he was conscious of Enjolras in his room, and wished more than anything that he knew what Enjolras was thinking.

Grantaire contemplated getting undressed right there in the room in front of Enjolras. After all, Enjolras had done it last night and managed to look like a cross between a siren and a ballerina. However, Grantaire acknowledged that he wasn’t even close to being as attractive and graceful as Enjolras, and that Enjolras would probably rather stick his eyes out with a fork than see Grantaire naked. So, he went into the bathroom to change.

When he returned to the bedroom to deposit his pajamas, he found that it was empty. He had a brief moment where he was certain that Enjolras had left, wanting to put this entire night behind him; however, when he entered the main room, he found Enjolras waiting for him, sitting on the couch.

“What will the _amis_ think of you, Apollo?” Grantaire asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He wandered into the kitchen to open a bottle of wine. “Wearing yesterday’s clothes?”

Enjolras attempted a scoff, but it came out as sort of a tired sigh. “I doubt they’ll notice.”

Grantaire took a long drink of wine, ignoring the distinct look of distaste that Enjolras was sending his way.

“Would you like some?” Grantaire asked, bitterly. “Might help you forget the night.”

Enjolras looked surprised at the hostility in his voice, and, to be honest, Grantaire was a little shocked himself. It wasn’t the first time that he’d gotten upset with Enjolras, though usually it wasn’t the result of anything so personal. Grantaire knew it was his own fault for letting himself get carried away with feelings that Enjolras would never in a million years be able to reciprocate, but still, he couldn’t help the emptiness he felt realizing that this whole night had been a fluke.

Enjolras stood up from the couch and went to join Grantaire in the kitchen, gently taking the bottle of wine from him and setting it on the counter. Grantaire’s breath caught in his throat as Enjolras moved closer to him. 

“Grantaire,” he began, “I don’t want to forget the night.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Grantaire said, regretting even bringing it up. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, I’m glad you did,” Enjolras began, looking uncomfortable and not very glad at all. “You’ve probably noticed that I am…inexperienced, with this whole thing.”

Enjolras, usually so confident and well-spoken, was stuttering, avoiding eye contact, and looked the very picture of distressed. Grantaire took his hand to get his attention and offer support.

“Enjolras, please,” he said, and although he was hurting he knew he had to try and save what was left of this relationship. “You must know by now that I have feelings for you. I don’t expect you to feel the same, I just…” he paused, gathering his thoughts and focusing on the feeling of Enjolras’s fingers laced with his own, “I want us to be friends.”

“We’re already friends,” Enjolras said. Grantaire raised his eyebrow skeptically, and Enjolras continued, “Grantaire, there is much about you that I admire.”

“Oh?” Grantaire asked, not entirely convinced that this wasn’t just Enjolras’s attempt to make Grantaire’s unrequited love more bearable. “And what could the great god Apollo possibly venerate in me?”

“Your ability to tell me when I am wrong, for one,” Enjolras said, “Although I do find your dispassion for the future frustrating, it only makes me want to work harder to inspire you, and to inspire others. You care about me. You care about our friends. You say you’ve given up on the world, and yet you still fight for it. That sort of dedication is admirable.”

Enjolras squeezed his hand then, and smiled. “Don’t be so quick to give me up, Grantaire. I’ve told you that I am new at all this.”

Grantaire couldn’t help but smile. “I would wait for you forever, Apollo. I would wait until the end of the world, even if you decided then that you didn’t want me.”

“You deserve more than that,” Enjolras replied, and he looked at Grantaire curiously, as though trying to read his mind. He leaned in a little, until their lips were almost touching and then pulled back just as quickly. Grantaire let out a breath.

“We should probably go the meeting, then?” he asked. He started to walk away when Enjolras grabbed his hand and pulled him back. He brought their lips together in a quick and clumsy embrace, pulling away abruptly, looking terrified as he opened his blue eyes and glanced at Grantaire.

Grantaire was too shocked to speak, his lips still tingling from where Enjolras had kissed him. Enjolras was blushing uncontrollably at this point, and Grantaire struggled for something coherent to say. Instead he just touched his fingers gently to his lips, totally in awe.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, quickly, still blushing and unable to meet Grantaire’s eyes, “I haven’t had much practice.”

“No, don’t apologize,” Grantaire said, and his voice sounded just as giddy and love struck as he felt, “That was incredible.”

“Incredible?” Enjolras asked, with a nervous laugh.

“Yes,” Grantaire said, “I had no idea Apollo was the Greek god of kissing.”

Enjolras shoved Grantaire gently, rolling his eyes. He still looked flustered, and Grantaire decided there was only one thing he could do to remedy that. He put his hand cautiously on Enjolras’s waist, pulling him close, and leaned in for a second kiss. It was slower this time, less panicked, and Grantaire felt Enjolras’s hand grab onto his arm as the kiss deepened.

Enjolras smiled as he pulled away. His lips were red, and a pink blush was coloring his cheeks. Grantaire had never seen anyone so beautiful. He was staring into the sun.

“You’re very skilled at kissing,” Enjolras said, and it was official, Grantaire could die happy.

He just laughed in response, not trusting himself to speak.

They stayed pressed up against each other for a moment longer before Enjolras suggested that they probably ought to head to the Café Musain if they didn’t want to be late for the meeting.

Grantaire agreed, and grabbed his diary before following Enjolras out the door. He didn’t know why exactly he was bringing it since there was absolutely no way he was going to share his thoughts.

They walked together down the streets of Paris. Grantaire didn’t live too far from the café, and it was a warm morning. They were walking close enough that they could have been holding hands.

“Thank you again for last night,” Enjolras said.

“Anytime, Apollo,” Grantaire winked, “I mean it, anytime.”

Enjolras just smiled in return.

When they arrived at the café, all the other _amis_ were already there, and the fact that Enjolras and Grantaire were walking in together did not go unnoticed.

“The lovebirds finally decided to show up,” Courfeyrac said, laughing. Grantaire tried to scowl at him but it ended up looking suspiciously like a crazed smile. Enjolras, however, had no such problem scowling.

“We had a late night,” Enjolras said, apparently oblivious to the wide world of sexual innuendos and double meanings.

“I bet!” Combeferre said, trying to catch Grantaire’s eye. Grantaire was pointedly looking at a wall.

“I also had a late night,” Marius commented, “with Cosette.”

“Okay!” Enjolras interrupted, not so clueless as to miss where that story was going. “Today we are going to discuss our next protest.”

“Wait,” Joly said, “first, we have to share our diaries.”

“Have to share our…what?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire supposed he probably could have mentioned the diaries to Enjolras at some point during the night, if he hadn’t been pretending to be a poet the entire time. Oh well, it was too late now.

“I’m surprised Grantaire didn’t tell you—” Joly began.

“I think Grantaire was busy with other things,” Combeferre commented, apparently dying to talk about Enjolras and Grantaire’s mysterious night.

“Well,” Joly said, giving Combeferre a harsh look, “we decided last night that we would all write our thoughts down in diaries and then share.”

“What could possibly be the benefit of that?” Enjolras asked, “what do our feelings matter to the oppressed people of France?”

Grantaire fought the urge to run over to Courfeyrac and yell: _I TOLD YOU._

“Enjolras, we’re fighting a revolution,” Joly explained, “we need to make sure we’re in our right states of mind.”

“I’ll start,” Marius said, and the rest of the _amis_ silently groaned.

“I swear, Marius,” Combeferre said, “if this is about you and Cosette...”

“Well, of course it’s about Cosette!” Marius said, flabbergasted. “She’s the love of my life!”

“Just read,” Joly said, trying to be encouraging.

“Ahem,” Marius cleared his throat, “ _I remember the day I first saw Cosette. She was looking from her window and singing a song about birds. I thought to myself, if I were a bird, I would sit in a tree and watch her day and night._ ”

“Marius, no offense but that’s creepy,” Grantaire commented. He and Enjolras had both taken seats at the table.

“Yeah, Marius, it’s totally creepy to pine over someone from afar, and think about them all the time,” Courfeyrac said. Grantaire kicked him under the table.

“Judgment free zone,” Joly said, simply.

“Judgment free?” Enjolras asked, “then how will we know if we’re in our right minds, if we can’t judge each other?”

Joly put his head into his hands and muttered, “We’ll just know!”

“Can I continue?” Marius asked, sounding annoyed.

“Actually I think you’ve said enough,” Joly said, trying to be amiable. “Who wants to go next?”

“Grantaire does,” Courfeyrac said, with a smirk.

“I do not,” Grantaire said, kicking Courfeyrac a second time.

“Please share, R,” Joly said.

“What, why?” Grantaire said, wishing he thought to order some wine before sitting down. “You already know what I’d write about.”

“Enjolras?” Courfeyrac asked, seconds away from bursting into laughter.

“No! Drinking and gambling and picking up women!” Grantaire yelled.

Grantaire was flustered and became even more so when he noticed Enjolras softly laughing beside him. He had his hand covering his face as though he was embarrassed to be caught in such a state.

“Something funny, Apollo?” Grantaire asked.

“I’m excited to hear your diary,” Enjolras said, still struggling to hide his laughter, “did you really write about me?”

“Fine,” Grantaire said, picking up his diary. “I hope you’re all in the mood for an incredibly vivid account of what Enjolras and I spent the night doing.”

The other _amis_ looked slightly worried, all of them avoiding each other’s gaze.

“I’m just warning you, this isn’t for the faint of heart,” Grantaire said, doing his best to sound convincing.

“I don’t know, R,” Marius said, “I might have some idea, Cosette can get pretty—”

“Okay!” Joly interrupted, slamming his hands down on the table, “does anyone _else_ want to go?”

No one said anything.

“Then I’ll share,” Joly said, picking up his diary.

As Joly was sharing his concerns about a recent virus he’d read about and was now certainly contracting, Grantaire felt Enjolras move closer to him, touching their legs together.

He turned to look at Enjolras, and they both smiled, leaning into each other, holding hands under the table.

They both missed the knowing looks the other _amis_ gave them and Courfeyrac whispering, “ _finally._ ” 


End file.
